Dust and Blankies
by Ghost Whisper
Summary: A good cleaning leads Catherine to a nearly forgotten memento that takes her on a trip down memory lane. Happy Fluff, Sad Fluff, and cuddly blankies. R&R Please!


Ghost Whisper: Okay, I know it's not my usual writing. So sue me. I thought it was cute, and a little fluff never hurt anyone did it? Some sad fluff as well as happy fluff. Enjoy! ^_^  
  
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Dust was everywhere. It wasn't that surprising really, considering the wind that had kicked up earlier. It had been strong enough that many of the workers had difficulty putting up the main tent for the circus. That was the problem we had when performing on Earth as opposed to the colonies. The only weather up in the colonies was engineered, so we didn't have to worry about things like dust storms or lightning, or any of the other host of problems that came with an uncontrollable atmosphere.  
  
A burning sensation filled my sinuses, and I struggled with myself for a moment before finally giving over to the loud sneeze that causes me to bend over with its force. I hate dust. I don't have to worry about allergies, but dust always seems to affect me more than others. I'd be sneezing and sniffling all day if I didn't managed to clean up all the dust that had blown through the crack underneath the door of my trailer.  
  
The first thing I grabbed was a cloth that was half damp, and half dry. Never go for one of those wand-like dusters I had learned early only. It only blows the dust around more and would leave me coughing and sneezing till I could barley stand. No, the best is a cloth. You use the damp side to pick up dust, and the dry side to keep the stuff in the air from sticking to the surface.  
  
I had most of the surfaces in my trailer cleaned within the hour. Never underestimate the power of a woman motivated by the threat of sneezing fits. That's what I always say. Hurricane Catherine - that's me - blew around from table to lamp, to small knick-knack in record speed. That dust was going down! I giggled to myself as a picture of myself streaking around the cottage in a blur of green and copper laughing maniacally filled my head.  
  
Recovering from my odd vision, and turned around and around, searching for a place that I might have missed. My gaze fell upon my small single size bed, and I twitched, seeing a thick layer of dust under my bed. So they thought they could escape me. With a mental snarl I pounced, landing on my hands and knees with my head under the bead. I held my breath in a vain attempt to stop myself from being caught by another sneeze as I swiped the damp cloth across the floor.  
  
Quick. . . quickly Catherine. . . must finish. . . can't. . . breathe. . . must not sneeze. I could almost feel myself beginning to get light headed as I used up the oxygen in my lungs. With a mental wail at what was to come, I lost the last of my willpower and allowed myself to take a great gasping breath. Big mistake. With a strong shudder, I almost immediately sneezed. Losing control of my body, my hand jerked to the left and slammed into a hard something that I had stored under my bed.  
  
"Dammit!" I cursed loudly and pain bit into my poor abused hand. I pulled myself out from under the bed and held my knuckles to my lips, sucking on them as if that would draw out the pain. What had I hit? I didn't remember storing anything under my bed.  
  
I decided to be adventurous and brave the underside of my bed once more in order to pull out whatever it was that I had nearly broken my hand on. Curiosity killed the cat they say. . . I just hope that it won't kill the Catherine. There was no way it would be some kind of electrical device that would zap me, was there? No. I didn't have anything like that.  
  
What I ended up with was a rather small box. I frowned at first, trying to remember what it was, but I couldn't seem to pin down the thread of memory that had decided to tease me mercilessly. I shrugged and pulled back the cardboard flaps that folded down over the top, and peered inside.  
  
My eyes widened. It was a tiny mint green blanket. The edges were embroidered with a line of crisscrossing x's in a darker green, and in one corner the initials T.B. had been sewn in a delicate cursive script of the same forest color. T.B. . Triton Bloom. This had been my little brother's blanket; had been, before the OZ attack that killed my parents and him anyway.  
  
Everything blurred for a minute as memory hit me and tears filled my eyes. My mother. . . she had been so happy when she learned that she was pregnant again. I had been confused and upset at first when she told me I was going to have a brother or sister - did she want to replace me? Wasn't I good enough? It had all changed when Triton was born though. He was so small, and so. cute. He was always laughing and smiling - such a cute little grin. I became Catherine the Big Sister. The Great Protector. that was me. Mom seemed really amused at how seriously I took my role.  
  
A few months after he was born, she decided to make him a baby blanket. It was laughable really, the thought of my mom making a blanket. She was never the most domestic type, and I can still remember her glaring at the needle like it was some evil monster that had turned against her. It made her happy though. Even with the number of times she pricked her finger, or had to pull out a stitch, she was always smiling as she worked on it.  
  
I had an important role in the creation of that blanket too. When mom was still shopping for the material and deciding on the pattern, she took me with her. We went to one of the large malls that had a fabric store and I ran from bolt of cloth to bolt of cloth, examining the color and texture of every cloth in the store. The lady at the counter frowned at my exuberance, but mom just smiled, and told me that I could pick out what fabric we would use for Triton's blanket.  
  
. . .  
  
I smiled as I stroked the tiny letters at the corner of the blanket. After all of these years, the blanket was still in almost new condition. Moths had not gotten inside to eat holes in the fabric, and the duel shades of green were as vibrant as they had been when I had found the fabric and thread in a far corner of the fabric store.  
  
T.B. .It was funny how fate worked. I had lost Triton and both of my parents less than a year later, and with most of our belongings destroyed in the attack, the only thing I had left to remember them by was the fuzzy green blanket which I had picked up so I could give it to Triton to keep him warm as we tried to run. I never got the chance to give it to my brother. Years later, the initials called to mind another face - not the infant face of my little brother Triton, but the older, less joyful face of my adopted brother Trowa.  
  
Trowa didn't smile the way Triton had. I wouldn't expect it, knowing even the small bit I had learned of what Trowa had grown up with and lived through. Triton had been an innocent child, and Trowa was a war weary young man. It was hard not to compare them though. They had similar hairstyles - both with dark caramel coloured strands that fell in a long sheet across half their faces. They both had dark green eyes that glittered with all their emotions; and they had the same initials. T.B.  
  
Lifting the tiny blanket to my face, I breathed in the faint scent of baby- powder that had somehow managed to cling to the blanket after all these years of being kept in a tiny cardboard box. It wouldn't do to store it under my bed, I decided. Triton. Triton shouldn't be forgotten. And in that odd set of coincidences, the small soft blanket reminded me of both my little brothers. It would be nice to have a little memento of Trowa too.  
  
I smiled and stood up in front of my bed. Leaning over, I spread the fuzzy mint colored fabric across my pillow. T.B. winked up at me from the corner, and I allowed my finger to trace the small curvy letters once more before turning away. Much better. . . 


End file.
